Rafferty's Wife by Kay Hooper Page B

against women?”
    Rafferty was obviously startled. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact. I’ve never been able to figure it out. Honestly speaking, I’ve won against male attorneys I knew were better lawyers, and lost to women I knew weren’t particularly strong. I assume you mean
won
in the sense of courtroom tactics, where a case depended more on the presentation of facts rather than the facts themselves?”
    “That’s what I mean.” She laughed a little when he lifted a questioning brow. “Yes, I think I know why.”
    “Why, then? I’ve always wondered. I don’t
think
I treat a female opponent any differently.”
    “No, probably not. But I’ll bet they treat you differently, Rafferty.”
    “In what way?”
    “They don’t underestimate you.”
    For a brief moment, there was a curious gleam in the depths of his golden eyes. Then it was gone, and he slid his arms around her topull her close. “Ah. And do you underestimate me?”
    Her hands crept beneath his unbuttoned shirt until the warm flesh of his back was smooth beneath her palms. “I hope not,” she murmured. “Underestimating you would be very dangerous, I think.”
    His arms tightened, and Rafferty’s eyes focused on her mouth. When he spoke, his voice was husky. “One of these days, you’ll have to explain that to me.”
    Drawn inexorably by those topaz eyes, Sarah had begun to move up on tiptoe to be even closer to him when her peripheral vision caught sight of Tom or Dick—she could never tell which was which—moving past them with an armful of ropes. She drew back a step.
    Rafferty had seen him as well. “Damn. When this is over, you and I are going someplace where we can be alone.” He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. “Really alone.”
    Sarah rubbed her cheek against his warm, rough palm, feeling very conscious of both their lack of privacy and the heavy ache deepinside her. She wanted him. And there was no hiding or disguising that hunger when she looked at him.
    He caught his breath, and the last rays of the setting sun painted his lean face with a hot reddish light. For a timeless moment he did indeed look dangerous, his features carved out of fire and his eyes ablaze. There was a hardness in his face, a driven strength. There was something primitive and savage.
    She watched the transformation, as one would watch the rippling of subtle muscles beneath the gleaming skin of a caged tiger, with wonder and fascination but no fear. It was not a trick of light, she thought dimly, but something else, some momentary revelation of what lay beneath his civilized exterior. He had hidden that part of himself, and she wondered why it had escaped now, never realizing that she had looked at him with naked hunger for the first time.
    The hand against her cheek trembled slightly even as the last of the sunlight vanished, and Rafferty’s face was his own again.Almost his own. There had been a subtle alteration during the moment of blazing light, leaving that inner core of him nearer the surface, more exposed. The deceptive layer of easygoing softness seemed to have been partially stripped away, and he was visibly more powerful, stronger, tougher.
    She wondered, vaguely, if men would underestimate him now.
    She didn’t think so.
    “Sarah …” He drew a ragged breath, as if his lungs were starved for air, and in the deepening twilight it was easy to see he was shaken. “Don’t look at me like that.”
    “Like what?” she murmured, still fascinated by him.
    Hoarsely, he said, “Like we’re in bed together with nothing between us.”
    After a moment, she slowly moved back away from him. It was not a rejection, or even a denial of his words. She was smiling a little, unconsciously sensual. “I think I’ll go—wash away the sand and salt.”
    He swallowed. “I’ll be along later.”
    Rafferty moved slowly to the bow, welcoming the cool, brisk wind on his face. His entire body was throbbing, slowly and heavily, and he stared at the darkening